Aftermath
by Loca Bambina
Summary: Some holes aren't meant to be filled... Oneshot.


A/N: Here's something a little different. I don't think anyone's written anything like this before... so yeah. Hooray for being different :)

Longer author's note at the bottom 'cause I don't wanna give anything away. Enjoy, everyone!

disclaimer: south park belongs to Matt&Trey, not me.

* * *

Aftermath

They go to Ted's Ice Cream on Saturday, just the two of them, in hopes that the outing will help them both relax. Kenny orders a vanilla cone.

"That'll be 2.40," says the woman at the counter. She holds it out to him with one hand and cups the other.

"Um… okay, hang on," mumbles Kenny, fishing around in his jacket pocket. He pulls out a handful of coins and dumps them on the counter.

The woman rolls her eyes as Kenny painstakingly counts the change. "2.25," he sighs, and she raises an eyebrow. The ice cream's beginning to drip onto her fingers.

Kenny turns to his friend, who's sweeping his tongue up and down his pistachio cone. "Um- "

"What?"

"Can I- um… can I borrow fifteen cents?" He feels weird having to ask, but the ice cream's melting, and besides, the other boy has five dollars in his wallet.

"You need fifteen cents?"

"Yeah. I'll pay you back, promise." He's not sure how he'll do this, but he can deal with that later.

"Get a job, you poor piece of shit." Stan laughs and takes another lick of his cone, then walks away, leaving Kenny at the counter.

* * *

They're sitting at the lunch table on Tuesday, just the two of them, when he shows up with two trays loaded with food.

"Who're those for?" asks Kenny, chewing on his turkey sandwich.

"…me."

"Jesus, there are starving kids in Ethiopia, and you're sitting here stuffing your face with cake?" Stan rolls his eyes. "Damn fatass."

"I'm not fat." He digs his spork into the gravy-covered mashed potatoes and dumps it all into his mouth.

"Yeah, and Kenny's a billionaire," scoffs Stan, ignoring the murmur of protest from the hooded boy. "You're so fat, when people walk by, they say- "

"Damn, that's a big fat ass!" laughs Craig as he and Token pass the table.

Kyle's face burns red, but he continues to shovel food into his mouth.

* * *

They're watching TV at Kyle's house, just the two of them, and hoping it'll feel like old times.

"Oh, look!" cries Terrance. "Ugly Bob is dead!"

"How'd he die?" asks Phillip, bending over the body.

"I think he killed himself, Phillip!" Terrance laughs. "Ugly Bob committed suicide, Ugly Bob committed suicide…" They fart on the dead man and laugh again.

The boys don't.

"They shouldn't joke about- about that," mutters Kyle. He finishes his bag of Cheesy Poofs and reaches for his friend's.

"Ey!" Kenny hugs the bag to his body. "No, Kahl! My Cheesy Poofs!"

* * *

And so they go to see Chef, because he solves their problems.

"Hello, children!" he calls, ushering them into his house.

"Hi, Chef." They take a seat on his ratty old couch.

"How's it going?"

"Bad."

"Why bad?"

"None of your business, you black asshole!" Stan covers his mouth. "Shit, sorry, Chef."

"Stan, Kahl, and Ah came because-" begins Kenny.

"Got any Salisbury steak?" asks Kyle.

"Oh, children…"

* * *

They don't know what's happening. Stan and Kenny swear they haven't gone anywhere near chocolate milk mix; Kyle says he has, but it was Nesquik, he's positive. None of them hear voices inside their heads, none of them have seen anything strange.

So why is this happening to them?

Stan has a theory.

"It's definitely someone's fault. I say we blame the Jews- " Kyle gives him a look. "Oh, God, sorry, Kyle, I didn't mean it- "

"Ah don't think people are behind this," says Kenny. "If someone wanted to try and take over my body Ah'd be like, 'Ey! You- you get out of mah bodeh, bitch!'"

"I think it's psychological," murmurs Kyle, unwrapping another Snacky Cake. "I don't think it's like before- I think it's all in our heads."

"That makes no _sense!_" shouts Stan, slamming his hand down on the table. "Why would I _want_ to act like this?"

"Why would Ah wanna talk like this?"

"Oh yeah, so you guys think I'm totally okay with stuffing my face 24/7?"

"Then how can it be psychological?"

"I think- but I'm not sure- " Kyle sighs and licks the last bit of chocolate from his fingers. "I have to do some research, okay? Why don't we all meet here same time tomorrow and try again?"

Stan and Kenny nod; Kenny throws in a "screw you guys, Ah'm goin' home," and they leave.

"Maybe we have Tourette's," shrugs Stan as he and Kenny shut the front door behind them.

"Can Tourette's change yer voice?" It's getting increasingly harder to understand him – the accent plus the hood makes his speech almost indecipherable.

"I dunno. Why don't you look it up online? Oh, wait, I forgot – you don't have internet 'cause you're-" Stan catches himself. "God, I hate this."

"You hate this? Ah feel bad fer Kahl."

"Oh yeah…" Stan shakes his head. "He told me yesterday he's gained like eight pounds. Sucks."

"Wonder what his mehm thinks."

"That bitch?"

Kenny laughs suddenly.

"What?"

He whispers something in Stan's ear and the black-haired boy grins.

"Do you know all the words?" Stan nods.

"Weeeeeeeellll…. Kyle's mom's a bitch, she's a big fat bitch, she's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world…"

Kenny giggles and joins in. "She's a stupid bitch, if there ever was a bitch, she's a bitch to all the boys and girls!" They sing all the way to Stan's house, where they part ways, laughing.

* * *

"Kyle, bubbelich, dinnertime!" Kyle pushes his chair back from his desk and slides his keyboard in.

"Coming!" _Dinner. Yum._ No, wait, what is he thinking? He's gained so much weight recently.

But he can't stop eating…

"Kyle, come on! Dinner!" He sighs and walks downstairs.

* * *

"Kenny, is that you?"

"Yeah, Mehm, it's me."

"What'ja just call me?"

"Mehm!" Kenny tries to make the word come out right but fails.

He knows he has it the easiest out of the three of them, but still… he spent so long trying to get people to understand him, and once they finally do, he has _this_ to deal with.

* * *

"Stan, honey, did you do your homework?"

"Leave me alone, bitch!" Stan calls from his room.

"Stanley! Get down here!" He sighs. "What did you just call me?"  
"Oh, sorry, sorry, did you not hear me?" He hates that he's doing this, but the words are forcing themselves out of his mouth and he can't stop them. "You're a bitch! Bitch bitch bitch!"

_"Stanley!"_

* * *

Chef settles back into his old couch and puts his feet up on the table. He wonders what in the world could be wrong with the children. Ever since…

He shudders, forcing himself to think of something more pleasant. _Women. Steak. Women._ It works; soon Chef is lost in sexual fantasy, and all thoughts of the children are gone.

But still, there's something nagging at his brain, something that won't go away…

* * *

"So, didja guys find anything?" Kyle reaches for another chocolate chip cookie and Kenny grabs his wrist. "Oh. Thanks."

"All I could come up with was Tourette's Syndrome," says Stan. "But that only works for me. It doesn't fit with what's going on with you and Kenny."

"It's not Tourette's." Kyle shakes his head. "We know it has to do with- "

"With Cartman," mumbles Kenny.

"Yeah. But he's not, like, possessing us or anything, or I'd be having a fight with myself instead of talking to you."

"Wait, so you still think it's psychological or whatever?" Stan looks skeptical. "You sure this isn't just one of your Jew p- " He clenches the bridge of his nose. "Sorry."

"Yeah, I think it's psychological. I think- I did a bit of research, and I think it has something to do with the fact that our group is, like, incomplete or whatever. We're trying to fill in the hole. Or something."

"…that makes sense," says Kenny. "Look. We've all picked up some trait or other: his attitude, his appetite, his accent. It's almost lahk he's still nyah."

"Knew that damn fatass would never leave us alone," mutters Kyle. "When Butters found him that day…" Kenny closes his eyes. He hates talking about it.

"How do we get rid of it, though?" asks Stan. "If he's not possessing us or whatever, we can't, like, exorcise him- Kenny couldn't afford it anyway- so what do we do?"

They ponder this for the next half an hour. Every five minutes or so, Kyle's hand shoots out for another cookie; Kenny doesn't do anything to stop it, because he's so lost in thought.

If they don't figure this out soon, there are going to be major problems.

* * *

Stan sleeps over at Kyle's that night. Kenny would've come, too, but it's his sister's birthday the next day, and Kenny has a very strong loyalty to his "familah".

"I hate this," mutters Kyle as he changes into his now too-small pajamas. Stan looks at him sympathetically.

"You should, Jew. _Kyle. _Sorr-"

"S'okay." Kyle tugs on the flaps of his ushanka and sits down on the bed. "It's just- stupid bastard had to go and _die_ on us- "

Stan buttons up his pajama shirt and sits down next to his best friend. "I'm sure he didn't mean for _this_ to happen."

"What if he did?"

"You think he'd- _kill himself"_ Stan gulps. "You'd think he'd do that just to piss us off?"

"I dunno. Probably not." Kyle sighs and lies down. "You ever wonder why he _did_ do it, though?"

Stan bites his lip and rolls onto his back so he's right next to Kyle. "You sure you wanna talk about this?" Kyle- Kyle took it the hardest, Stan knows, and even though he kind of wants to know _why_, he doesn't want to upset his friend.

"Actually… no. You're right, I shouldn't." He shakes his head, trying to rid the image of Butters's face- of Cartman- of that stupid Clyde Frog thing, lying discarded on the floor…

Suddenly Kyle's cell phone rings. Stan's closest, so he swings his feet off of the bed and grabs it off the desk. "It's… Chef." Wordlessly, Kyle takes the phone and presses SPEAKER.

"Hey, children."

"Hey, Chef," they say together.

"Who's that with you, Kyle?"

"Me, you bla-" Stan catches himself just in time. "Stan."

"What's up, Chef?" asks Kyle, pushing himself into a sitting position. "Why're you calling so late?"

"Oh, sorry. Your mom isn't up, is she?" They can hear him whisper "bitch". Stan laughs.

"No, she's asleep," says Kyle, glaring at his friend.

"Okay. See, children, I was- um-" ("_Havingsex_," coughs Stan.) "I was- well, it doesn't matter what I was doing, but I had an idea about your little problem."

"I think we figured it out, dude." Kyle rubs his forehead. "It's psychological."

"I figured that. No, what I meant is I think I can help you children get rid of it." The boys grin.

"Well, tell us!"

"I'm not sure, now."

"Tell us anyway," says Kyle. "I'll try anything. Please."

"All right." Chef pauses. "You know that movie?"

"What movie?"

"The one where the ghost was haunting that guy. I forgot what it's called."

"Oh, _that_ movie," says Stan, rolling his eyes.

"Anyway, children, in the movie, the ghost was trying to get revenge on the guy. But once the guy forgave him, the ghost went away."

"And…?"

"So I think you children need to forgive Eric for all the shit he put you through."

"He's not _haunting_ us, Chef," reminds Kyle. "Besides, I don't want to- forgive him."

"No, no, children, I think once you make things right in your _head_, all that stuff'll go away."

"What do you think?" asks Stan. "Give it a try?"

Kyle sighs. "I guess so."

"Good, children," says Chef. "Tell me how it goes, 'kay?"

"'Kay."

They say goodnight and hang up the phone.

* * *

"Yeh sure this'll work?" asks Kenny. The three boys are sitting on Cartman's bed, because Kyle insisted they could "feel him better" or something like that.

"Dunno," shrugs Stan. "Let's try, okay?"

They stare at the wall in silence.

"Well?"

"Ah'll start," sighs Kenny. "Um… okay. Cartman, Ah, um- am Ah doin' this right, guys?" The others nod. "Ah forgive yeh fer all the, uh, poor jokes. And fer… fer ropin' me intah stuff Ah didn't wanna do fer yer own benefit. And fer… um, fer exploiting my death so you could build a Shakey's." He looks at Stan and Kyle. "That's all Ah needed ta say, right?"

"Yeah," Stan nods. "I don't think we hafta say too much." He rubs his right eye with his fist. "Um. Cartman. I forgive you for being an asshole to me and to everyone else. Fat bast- sorry. Um… I forgive you for… calling me a pussy… and for making fun of my dog… uh… yeah."

"Cool." Kenny pulls on his hood. "Kahl?"

"Okay." Kyle takes a deep breath. "Cartman, I for- forgive you for making fun of my mom. I forgive you for manipulating me and for humiliating me. And…" He sighs. "I forgive you for the Jew jokes."

"Good." Stan puts his hand on Kyle's shoulder. "I think we should go now. Before… yeah."

They get up and walk to the door. Kyle turns and looks at the empty room.

"You know, I swear I just saw-" He shakes his head. "Never mind. Let's go."

The boys leave the house and walk out into the snow. Kenny suddenly laughs.

"That- was so- gay." The other two giggle, and before long the boys are rolling in the cold snow, laughing like they've never laughed before.

* * *

First thing the next morning, they go straight to Chef's.

"So, children, how'd it go?" He ushers them inside. "Do you feel any different?"

"I dunno," says Stan. "I don't think so."

"Me neither," mumbles Kenny. "You'd think there would be like a weight lifted from our shoulders or something."

"_I_ do," grins Kyle. "Dude, I lost three pounds!"

"That's great, dude!" says Stan, smiling.

"Yeah, Kyle." Kenny gasps.

"You said his name right!"

"I did!"

"The accent's gone," says Chef. "You're cured."

"I think I am, too," says Stan. "Now that I think about it- I haven't said one mean thing all morning."

"Dude!"

"_Dude!_" He high-fives his best friend.

"This is great, children!"

"Yeah," says Kyle. "Thanks, Chef."

"Yeah, thanks!"

"You rock, Chef," says Kenny. "I'm seriouslah." They look at him, worried. "Just kidding."

"Aw, children."

* * *

_Somewhere far, far away:_

"Hey! Poor boy!"

"C'mon, Jew! Hurry up!"

Eric Cartman groans and pushes his bright red (ginger) hair out of his eyes, tucking it up into his tattered orange hood, which, for some unknown reason, is embroidered with little pink hearts. "Dude. Weak."

* * *

A/N2: So, what'd you guys think?

I'd originally planned this to be a Cartman suicide fic, somewhat like "Night", but there were too many of those already on here. So _then_ I wrote it as more of an angsty reflection-on-Cartman's-suicide story, somewhat like "Pain", but it just didn't work out. And then I ended up with this, and I think I like it.

Reviews are much appreciated, as always. :D And don't worry, I'm still workin' hard on those chaptered fics.


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